Bitter Taste
by Eleanor Damaschke
Summary: Cheetara knew her duty, knew that she had to protect her king. But at what cost?
1. Story

**Bitter Taste**

For every mother who has felt the loss of a child. For every woman who knows in her heart that she failed. For every girl who dreams of a happy ending, and has that dream snatched away. This is for you, the women and girls and mothers of the world.

* * *

Cheetara could face an opponent of any size, any skill-level, without fear. If her king was in danger, then she knew her duty. There was nothing else to it. Duty came before everything else. Or, it had. Until now. The cheetah felt her traitorous hands shaking and gripped her bo staff tighter, drawing strength from the solid wood. How could everything turn on its head so quickly? All her training, all her preparation, all those years of readying herself for this very moment were all going out the window because of one simple fact. She was pregnant. One tiny life, had somehow consumed her entire being and changed absolutely everything- one life. And that one life wasn't her king. There was no oath strong enough for the moment. Cheetara settled for grimacing.

Minutes passed, stretching into an hour. The bo staff grew heavy in her hands. Cheetara held the passage, a vicious snarl stamped across her face. It felt like a permanent fixture as she beat them back time and again. There was no way these cretins would get to her king. If the others hadn't been so thoroughly engaged, repelling the rest of the army, then she wouldn't have been alone. But there was nothing for it. Cheetara sucked in a ragged gasp as a blade lodged between her ribs. She used the leverage to tear the knife out of her attacker's hands, but it cost her dearly. Only years of training kept her on her feet. Another of them ripped it free a minute later, and through the blinding pain the cheetah felt her bo staff connect solidly with bone. She hoped it was his head.

The end came as quickly as the whole affair had started. Suddenly, there were no more attackers in the hallway. Well, no more conscious ones, anyway. Very few of them were even alive. Cheetara stood on sore feet, teetering dangerously. There was a part of her that insisted she had to stay alert for any more that might be hiding around the corner. Forcing her unsteady legs to move was a battle in itself, but she managed to get her feet moving. When she reached the corner and saw the hallways beyond were clear, the cleric could admit to herself that she had nothing left to fight with. If there had been another opponent, another assassin, another attacker, then she would have fought anyway, but she'd been running on empty when they showed up. Someone had said that when exhaustion set in, their legs felt like overcooked noodles. Cheetara's legs felt more like those of a heavy wooden puppet. They were probably just being contrary. The stiff, heavy things folded in the middle and deposited her roughly on the floor. She had enough strength left to pull her bo staff closer, and place one hand on her swollen, bleeding belly, before the darkness enveloped her.

It was Kit that found her. The little female was in a panic when she finally located the cheetah's battered body, but she had the presence of mind to run for help. Kat controlled his sister, Panthro barked orders, Lion-O, still limping badly and looking pale under his tawny fur, demanded to know what was going on. Cheetara was vaguely aware of these things, but couldn't have summoned the strength to speak, even if she'd had a mind to. The only thought that remained long in her pain-fogged mind was that she needed to sleep, and it was hard to do so with so many cats around making noise. Didn't they know that she needed to rest, so her baby could be healthy and strong? Voices. Male voices. They got quieter. She wondered if her mate was nearby, but couldn't hold on to the thought long enough to summon his face.

Cheetara swam up out of the blackness, pulled toward reality with a painful urgency that wouldn't be refused. As she opened her eyes, she became aware of light and noise, both of which were painful. But neither one was _the_ pain. _The_ pain came from her abdomen, wrapping iron bands from her lower back around to her hips and stretching upward to her ribs, demanding that she curl her body around it. But there were weights on her legs and shoulders that wouldn't let her do that.

"She's regained consciousness, Doctor!"

"She's fighting! I can't hold her!"

"Just a minute more! Hold her down, now, there's a good lass."

Screaming. Someone was screaming. It was bouncing off the walls and making Cheetara's ears ache and ring. She wished they would stop. Her head was pounding with the noise of it, and it was several long moment before she realized that her throat was raw. Being scraped more so, too. Because _she_ was screaming. That thought consumed her, but only for a moment. After that, her world was pain. Her world was spinning rapidly, orbiting around the pain as it ate her from the inside, biting with fangs of burning, tearing fire. Her nose filled with the scent of her own blood and Cheetara screamed.

When the cheetah found herself again, she was laying on a bed. A soft bed. It was a nice, clean bed. The memory of blood stung her nose and the cleric sat up. Or, at least, she meant to. What she actually did was more of a weak twitch. But there was someone in the room that noticed the twitch.

"Cheetara? Honey, are you awake?" The voice was male, but for some reason, she couldn't open her eyes. They were too heavy. Too thick. A hand slid into hers, between her palm and the clean bed. The hand was big and warm. She wished she could open her eyes, but there just wasn't enough in her to manage it.

"Cheetara, please don't die." The voice again, breaking with sadness. "I've already lost one of you, I can't lose both. Please... _please_ don't die." The cheetah concentrated, and forced her fingers to close. That, too, was more of a twitch, but the male seemed relieved. He mumbled something grateful. Something warm touched her belly. Something small and wet splashed on the bed. Two things hit her then; hard, walloping things that would have knocked the air out of her if she'd been in any condition at all. So instead, the two things worked together to scoop out her insides and leave her achingly hollow.

First- he was crying.

Second- he'd already lost one.

_My baby!_ It was a nightmare. A savage, horrible nightmare, in which she longed to scream, but couldn't. A faint, breathless whimper escaped her, but that was all. Her baby. Cheetara concentrated, agony lending her strength. But even with her senses sharpened by grief, she couldn't find the heavy, warm pressure in her abdomen, the pressure that had been growing over the last six months. Her baby. Gone. And she'd never even seen him.

"It's going to be okay," said the male voice. She didn't believe him. She had a feeling that he didn't believe himself. A tear oozed out from between her thick, heavy eyelids and dripped onto the pillow.

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Disclaimer: I do not own ThunderCats.


	2. Apologies

Dear Readers,

It has come to my attention that some of you are actually quite upset with this one-shot and with me for writing it. I'm not here to offer a defense or discredit your complaints, rather, I'd like to offer an apology.

It was never my intent to make light of a serious loss or poke fun at the very real grief of very real women. I'm sorry if it ever seemed that way. The use of Cheetara in this fic was one of convenience only, and I deeply regret that this choice has made my readers upset. In future, I will do my utmost to give each situation the gravity and respect that is owed, without unnecessary dramatization.

My thanks to those who were brave enough to point out my error.

Your humble and ashamed online author,

Elle


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